


Pining

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 08:39:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5999305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has no right to feel this way. (post season 2)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pining

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt, "pining". As... the title would suggest lol.

He has no right to feel this way. He knows this much. It is his own choice, his own fault that Porthos only casts a smile his way and then looks away, moves, shifts – further and further with each footstep. Aramis tells himself it is his own doing, his own failings. 

The woman is beautiful. She smiles when she sees Porthos coming closer. Holds out her hand to him. He takes it, squeezes it, kisses her hand in greeting. He is kind; he is gentle. Even from here, Aramis can see the way his expression softens, the way it smoothes around the edges – the way he looks so much younger, so much happier, so much in love. 

It could have been him. It should have been him. 

He touches absently at the embroidery of his breastplate – the shine of the cross just above his heart. It is better this way. There is protection in staying one step away. The churning in his gut, the painful drag of jealousy, is simply something to ignore and work past. Another human folly, another human danger. He has always been painfully, regrettably human. 

He watches the shape of Porthos’ smile, the curve of crowsfeet touching at the soft corners of his eyes. Happiness. Kindness. Porthos was always exceptionally kind. He’s still holding her hand. 

Aramis wonders what her name is. Wonders what she could have possibly done in this life to be worthy of Porthos’ love, of those smiles, those eyes, that hand held so gently in her own. Aramis watches with a deadly kind of certainty as their fingers lace together. He leans back heavily against the railing of the stairs. Her smile is kind in turn, dimples, nose soft and dainty and her eyes bright and clear. She is beautiful. And Aramis hates her. Another human folly of his. 

She pays him no mind, looking up at Porthos. Porthos looks at her, then shifts. He turns. Porthos keeps his back to him. 

Some time later, once she has departed for the evening and Porthos has joined Aramis at the table near the foot of the stairs leading to Athos’ office. They sit in a silence that feels only awkward to Aramis because he is a fool who always wants what he cannot have. Once, years ago, he’d have slipped his foot across the space between them and pressed up against the arch of Porthos’ boot. Once, he might have dared to let his hand brush against Porthos’. 

He watches the way Porthos bends to his work, cleaning at the inside corners of his pistol. His hands are sure and fine and gentle – and once, Aramis might have known what it felt like to have Porthos’ hands on him. But he lost that chance and can never have it back again. 

“Hey,” Porthos says, and Aramis looks up to find Porthos watching him. “Something on your mind?”

Aramis licks his lips, looking at Porthos for a long moment. Then he breathes out and says, “No, my friend. Nothing at all.”


End file.
